Fine Line
by ricetard
Summary: between hate and love. Alex/Justin incest, oneshot


Justin will, most of the time, deny it—but he was very protective of his sister. Whether it considered the type of people she hung out with (but her best friend was Harper, so clearly he had nothing to worry about there), the food she ate (he often sneaked parts of fruits and vegetables in all the junk food she ate), the trouble she—okay, maybe not that. But most of the time. Her well-being.

Especially with the guys she dated.

It didn't start with Dean, in started with the first guy she ever took remote interest in—some boy named Harry when she was eight and he was nine. He told her to stay away from him—but thus, she got closer to him.

And then he started hanging out with Gigi.

Which hurt Alex badly. At first, Justin had said his _I told you so_'s to her, but then he felt bad and comforted her. Because he's always comforted her, really. And that was one of the parts why they loved each other, why they were so close even though they got into so many fights.

Justin sometimes wondered if it was the right kind of love.

* * *

Alex had dignity. Alex had pride. Alex had everything in the world, everything she could ever want—being daddy's little princess, a best friend who always believed in her, got into enough mischief to get in trouble but remain respected, enough boys to have pined for her, and, of course, magic powers. And she was the bad child over her family, but her parents lover her all the same and Max was always in his own little world—but loved his sister as well.

And Justin. Justin loved Alex. And though sometimes Alex would try to show it as little as possible, she loved Justin as well. And they'd fight, _always_, because Justin was the good, smart child whereas she, she was nothing near the sort. But she never had to try and she succeeded in things even Justin couldn't do—and this was one of the things she had never been proud of.

Because she knew she didn't' deserve it. She didn't believe that she should be like this—she didn't even want success, she never needed it. But she received it. And Justin, Justin who always tried to hard, wanted nothing more in life than to be successful—he never got it. Alex wished she could give this to Justin, she just wanted him to be happy. Nothing more. But she couldn't be happy when Justin wasn't.

Alex, in spite of her thoughts, in spite of her words, in spite of every terrible thing she had ever done to humiliate Justin, make him furious—she didn't like it at all. Making Justin angry was like an addiction. She always got a terrible feeling in her heart, like something inside of her was rotting, dying, wanting her to stop. And despite the sinister smile she always had on her face, there was a knot in her stomach that twisted every time she tortured her brother.

And she knew, on the outside, that she was pretty. But on the inside, she was far from pretty.

* * *

She rarely broke down, rarely showed her weaknesses, especially in front of Justin—but time and time again she'd push him away when she was on the verge of breaking and he'd resist, he'd put her back together, he'd put all their past aside and focus on nothing but her.

And it was often in the nights because that was when Alex felt the most comfortable, because all her flaws and her weaknesses were hidden, and no one, especially Justin, could see a glimpse of them.

But then Justin would peek into her room at the sound of her crying, at the sound of the pathetic sixteen-year old crying, and he'd call out quietly, "Alex?" And Alex wouldn't respond and pretend to be asleep, but the sound of her whimpers beneath her covers usually gave her away.

And so Justin would come to her; he'd make his way over to her bed quietly, stepping over obstacles on the floor he'd know would be there because he knew her room like the back of his hand, of _her_ hand, and his footsteps would hardly creak in her warm floors, and all of a sudden she'd hear her name again, said with his perfect lips, "_Alex_," and all of a sudden she'd feel a weight on her bed, and something warm enveloping her. And she'd try to push him away, but he was too strong and he held her, tight, and she knew he didn't want him to leave. And he'd bring her close to his chest, and she'd cry into his night shirt, tears staining her perfection, and he'd welcome the stains, willingly.

_I'm such a terrible person, Justin. I'm terrible, terrible…_

_You aren't terrible. You're perfect, Alex, you're perfect the way you are._

_I-I'm not. I'm nowhere near perfect, I'm evil and ugly and horrendous and I terrorize you and Harper and Max and all of my friends and I-I don't undersand, w-why would someone, anyone, l-love me?_

_I love you Alex. You aren't evil or ugly or anything. If it's what makes you happy, it makes me happy._

_H-How could you b-be happy if—if I do so many things to you?_

_Whatever makes you happy makes me happy._

_

* * *

_

Alex hated that their relationship was so unhealthy.

* * *

And she got jealous of her brother's relationships. She got jealous that Justin's eyes would turn to some other girl, where she was no longer the only girl in his life. She hated it whenever he went on dates, because he was spending time with a girl that she knew he wouldn't' stay with, forever (but that is her biggest fear.)

Alex had had boyfriends, dated—Dean, Mason, Ronald—but they were boys, they were only but boys to her. But Justin—Justin was her _brother_, he was more than a boy. All her old boyfriends always said they loved her, they cared about her—but Justin never said that. He always held her, covered for her, protected her, worried about her—but never said he loved her.

Because he didn't need to. And because—he never told his girlfriends he loved them, either. Just a smile from Justin would suffice. And Alex wanted that smile—she already had so much, but she wanted more.

And sometimes she felt selfish but prideful that she had Justin, she had Justin most of the course of the day, and even if they were arguing—she still had him. And she hated it when he spent his other tie with other girls—because this meant that he was spending time he could spend with her, with someone else.

But in the end, he always came to her. And her, to him.

* * *

There was more, much more to their relationship Justin figured. They were brother and sister, but closer—they said they hated each other when their relationship was deeper than lovers'. And it was more than Alex coming to hi when she was weak—Justin would scoff at the thought. But it was that Alex didn't want anyone to turn to and it was hardly part of Justin's nature to care, but he _did_ and he was the only one who cared. And Alex didn't need telling and Justin didn't know what she was going through but he understood. And on the outside, their relationship of love was far more than nonexistent, but they knew that in each other, the fine line between hate and true love hardly existed, because they weren't to be separated but together.

And Justin kisses Alex's lips (because they wanted to be more than brother and sister, they are more than brother and sister, because they were close to reveal everything, and when Justin looked at Alex, Alex felt like he was looking at everything she was, she felt so exposed) and Alex kisses back. And they shared two separate lives from each other, two different personalities separated by a thread—but the thread is gone, and they are one.


End file.
